


red ripe heart

by pixiepower



Series: i don’t want no other sauce [2]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Flirting, Food Metaphors, M/M, Test Kitchen AU, back to back chef with choi seungcheol, bon appetit au, implied aged up, musician and singer joshua hong, pantry hookups, really cheap food innuendos, you know. par for the course (something something course is a culinary joke)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-30 11:36:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20446517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixiepower/pseuds/pixiepower
Summary: “Hi, I’m Joshua Hong, musician and singer,” he says, voice all velvet and molten lava cake. Well. Okay. (Molten lava cake is fucking good, okay, and people who claim not to like it are being derivative and stuck-up, and Seungcheol will die on that hill.)“I’m Choi Seungcheol from the test kitchen, and today we’re here to see if Joshua can keep up with me, following only my verbal instructions, while we make bulgogi tacos.”•Choi Seungcheol is a professional chef, and it is very easy for him to be professional with Joshua Hong in his workplace, the test kitchen of a world-renowned culinary magazine. Super easy. Very casual.





	red ripe heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kneedeepsnow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kneedeepsnow/gifts).

> title from “strawberry” by twice.
> 
> happy birthday, samkate! i am really really really glad to be your friend, and frankly i probably would have written this anyway, but knowing i could give you this gift was more than enough motivation, pushing me forward. [claire saffitz voice] i love them so much
> 
> thank you, chris, for listening to me accidentally call brad “mingyu” for months. we didn’t start this kitchen fire. but i sure can put oil on it
> 
> **june 2020 note:** i decry the fundamentally inequal and often hostile workspace fostered for bipoc contributors at condé nast, at both the real bon appétit magazine and especially in its test kitchen. this fic series was never meant to exactly replicate that environment, and i leave them up not only as a reminder that our comfort content is not immune to systemic inequality, but also in the hopes that we may continue to find some happiness in the fictionalized version of it that i have created here. sending love! isi

Choi Seungcheol never went to culinary school.

It’s better that way, honestly. Watching Minghao and Jihoon systematically and methodically deconstruct every single recipe and dish they attempt with a single-minded rigor not unlike military personnel on a mission is, frankly, a little intimidating. Even if he does have a couple years of age and real-world experience on them.

It’s such a difference from the myriad restaurants Seungcheol has worked in. Everyone shows up to work in their own clothes, bright and monotone alike, and everyone has such diverse experience. Pastry school, graphic design, Le Cordon Bleu, fast food management. It makes him feel like he’s in a circus, a little, but one where they’re all balanced, precariously and beautifully, making something like fun, like art.

They’re all human. And food is important for human sustainment, human connection.

So when he comes into work in the test kitchen and Mingyu is using a drill to open a jar of imported something or other that arrived in a crate labeled _ LIVE, DO NOT FLIP, _Seungcheol is not surprised, and Seungcheol does not bat an eye, despite the fact that Seungcheol watched Mingyu lodge a machete into an end grain cutting board in his attempt to open a coconut not two weeks ago.

Sometimes Seungcheol is ushered over in front of a camera before he’s even taken his coat off, and Minghao is looking at him with focused, hopeful eyes, and he gets to inspect and eat a chocolate concoction and say, “This is the closest thing to a Kinder Joy egg a human being physically could have made,” and watch relief melt onto Minghao’s sweet, perfectionist features.

Other days, he gets lined up next to Chan and Jeonghan and Soonyoung and Seokmin and Jihoon and asked to name different cuts of beef by look alone. It varies. Seungcheol does pretty well. (Jihoon is able to identify the mokshim almost instantly, but, to be fair, he’s Jihoon.)

Days like today, Seungcheol is prepping to film his video, and is met with surprise after surprise.

“Bulgogi tacos,” the revising editor, Jihyo, tells him, flipping over her laminated sheet and handing Seungcheol a copy of the recipe he submitted a few weeks earlier. After a few minor adjustments, it had been published in the magazine, and he tore it out of his print copy and put it in the leather binder where all his recipes go. A pride binder was not something Seungcheol ever expected to have when he went into the culinary industry. (“You know, normal people would call this a portfolio,” Seungkwan had said, and while he made a compelling point, the name stuck.)

Jihyo continues, “You always do those really traditional recipes on Back to Back, Seungcheol-ssi, and I think it could be charming to show a new side of you to the people who only watch the videos, as well as make your guest feel at home since he’s from L.A. Do you feel good about the recipe?”

Seungcheol nods and skims over the recipe for a refresher, bending down to get out those tiny glass bowls for his mise-en-place, the ones people eat up in cooking videos like his. They still make him smile; it’s cute to set them up two by two for these segments. “I know it well enough. This will be really fun! It’s simple enough to do, too, so I hope it’ll turn out well.”

“Perfect, I’ll go down and let him up, then!”

When Jihyo reappears some ten minutes later, it’s with a man whose resumé Seungcheol assumes just reads “sunkissed prince.” Some brown sugar spills across Seungcheol’s side of the workstation. Of its own volition, naturally. It’s known across the industry that it has a mind of its own.

“Joshua Hong,” sunkissed prince is saying, and Seungcheol nods like it’s something he has to agree with.

“Choi Seungcheol.”

Joshua peers at him a little, and Seungcheol feels like he missed something. But Joshua smiles, and before he knows it he finds himself smiling back.

“Yo. You ready for this?” Joshua asks.

_ Yo? _ Seungcheol pulls a face, goodnatured, and hands Joshua his apron, the one that matches Seungcheol’s own. It’s one of the better ones, the chambray with the brushed-gold buckles, and the color goes nicely with Joshua’s outfit. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

Humming a little, Joshua says, “Mm, probably. I am a stranger, after all. You don’t know what I’m capable of, Seungcheol-ssi.” His face is unreadable as he shakes out the apron, tugging the ties free of the little bundle with big hands Seungcheol definitely doesn’t acknowledge.

Seungcheol is usually pretty good at reading people, and his guests vary wildly from the shyest of shy authors to the screeching comedians. A lot of the actors he has on feign real banter, faux-chemistry to show how fun and relatable they are, promoting their show or movie or book or podcast or perfume or whatever, and Seungcheol goes with the flow. He’s here to cook and have a good time with artists in other fields, doing what he loves with professional pretenders, and if that kind of thing sets them at ease, so be it.

Joshua is kind of hard to pin down, and Seungcheol’s not really sure how this is going to go. He strikes him as honest, though, at least to Seungcheol. Every word out of his mouth feels both drippingly sincere and cheekily passive-aggressive, a little sarcastic and a little self-deprecating and a little flirty all at once. Seungcheol finds that he likes it.

“I see they gave us the nice aprons today,” Seungcheol says under his breath, more to himself than anything, little mutters like when he’s testing recipes. Joshua catches it, though.

“I’m honored, but I don’t know if I can pull it off like you do,” he says, face and voice both humble as he slips the apron on over his shirt, doing his best to tie it behind his back. Looking him over quickly, Seungcheol suspects the t-shirt is deceptively expensive, because even though it’s devoid of design, just a solid, pale violet, it sits on Joshua like it was made for him, draping over his shoulders softly and tapering to that waist. “Is it good?” he asks, genuine.

“Hang on,” Seungcheol says, and Joshua turns, his back to Seungcheol now for assistance.

He takes a step forward and relaces the ties through the lower loops, tugging a little as he does the finish up in a quick bow at the small of Joshua’s back. Seungcheol’s fingertips drag from under the tie as he pulls away. The shirt is definitely expensive; the fabric is soft and dreamlike over the dip of Joshua’s spine.

“Thank you,” he says, and it’s murmured, private. Seungcheol almost misses it under the shuffle of their handful of camera operators. Joshua’s smile sticks with him for a moment, though, as the producer flits around and ensures their stations are set up properly and the shot is lit okay.

He gets out a quick, “Of course,” before he has to step to Joshua’s side and face the beautiful floor-to-ceiling windows for their setup shot. 

The sun is up but it’s not too hot yet, which is nice. Depending on the guest, they’ve shot just about any time of day: the “asscrack of dawn,” according to Jeonghan, the middle of the night, and have sprinted to keep light as the sun has gone down. So today’s schedule at least makes Seungcheol feel like he can be a person, keep normal-person hours. He went to the gym before work today and everything. He feels distinctly glad to have gone to the gym today of all days, for whatever reason.

Seungcheol spares half a glance to his side, where Joshua is covering a big, jawline-lifting yawn with a hand. He catches Seungcheol’s eye when his mouth closes again, and the corner of his mouth twists up in a tight-cornered smile, one eye crinkling in what could almost be a wink. 

Seungcheol yawns. (They’re contagious!) Joshua smirks.

“You ready, gentlemen?”

Raising an eyebrow, Seungcheol defers to Joshua, who nods. “As I’ll ever be!”

The crew gets into position, and the clapboard is snapped crisply in front of where Seungcheol stands with Joshua.

“Hi, I’m Joshua Hong, musician and singer,” he says, voice all velvet and molten lava cake. Well. Okay. (Molten lava cake is fucking _ good, _okay, and people who claim not to like it are being derivative and stuck-up, and Seungcheol will die on that hill.)

“I’m Choi Seungcheol from the test kitchen, and today we’re here to see if Joshua can keep up with me, following only my verbal instructions, while we make bulgogi tacos.”

There’s color high on Joshua’s cheeks, and Seungcheol wonders if he feels comfortable on camera, or if he knows how to cook. They usually save those questions for the camera, so they get real reactions and genuine conversation, so Seungcheol gears up to ask, but he finds that he doesn’t have to.

Joshua beams. “I love bulgogi tacos. It sounds like it would be a weird combination, but it really works. Getting to have bulgogi, something I grew up eating, in a different kind of way is so cool. I’m really excited to be here and make them myself for the first time!”

“I’m really happy to hear that,” Seungcheol says, a little surprised, and it rings true. His own recipe getting doted on would feel a little self-congratulatory, but just knowing that Joshua is comfortable with it and likes the idea makes him feel good.

“What year were you born, Seungcheol-ssi?” Joshua asks plainly, and when Seungcheol answers, Joshua’s eyes light up. It doesn’t surprise Seungcheol when, out of the corner of his eye, he sees the handheld step forward for a closer shot. “Oh, we’re the same age!”

That’s rare, especially with guests, and the warmth radiating from Joshua makes it feel a little like kismet. Seungcheol smiles, eyes meeting Joshua’s. “Then I hope you won’t mind if I challenge you a little bit.”

“I promise I’m a quick study,” Joshua replies with a grin of his own.

“Good, because we only have twenty minutes. Let’s do it.”

The format carries Seungcheol through the setup, but there’s always that simultaneous relief and spike of energy that comes from the turnaround. 

Nobody fails. Ever. That’s one thing Seungcheol guarantees. They’ve worked enough so that the recipes the team chooses are fun and challenging while not too hard for any level of experience, but there’s always the nagging worry that someone will sauté their severed finger by accident or something. Shit happens fast. It’s a professional kitchen, unconventional or not, and with Jun and Soonyoung emulsion blending God knows what at the next bench over, all bets are off.

“All right, chef, what do I need?” Joshua drawls out _ chef _like it’s a term of endearment, a syrupiness to it that glues itself into Seungcheol’s chest like it’s covered in molasses. Maybe it’s an American thing. Like molasses.

“Firstly, we need to make sure the beef is uniform so it cooks quickly and evenly, so we’ll cover the whole slab with a blanket of cling wrap and use your rolling pin to pound it out flat. Just really go at it until it’s all the same, no need to go _ too _ too thin.”

“Got it.”

The rhythmic, cushioned sound of Joshua’s pin on the workstation is a good sign, and Seungcheol quickly works his over. Fresh beef isn’t always easy to work with, but it cooperates today.

“You strike me as the kind of man who is gentle with his meat. Tender,” Joshua says suddenly, voice upbeat from behind Seungcheol. 

That’s certainly something. Seungcheol looks up at the camera above his workstation and grins, hoping his cheeks are a normal human color and not any closer to matching the raw beef. “And you say we just met? You seem to know me too well.”

Joshua hums thoughtfully. “Well, suffice it to say _ I’ve _ never turned down the opportunity for a good pounding.”

Frankly, it was the smartest move the video producers ever made, to make this show sightless. Seungcheol’s professionalism and commitment to the format are really saving his ass here, because if Seungcheol had to look Joshua in the eye when he said shit like that, he’d probably have passed out from shock already.

But like this, the worst that can happen is this: Seungcheol can’t help it; he can feel his eyes widen with surprise. Laughter bubbles out of him and he has to grip the edge of the countertop to keep from doubling over completely.

He can’t see his face, which is the point, but Seungcheol assumes that Joshua keeps it together just as well as he did. He’s silent for only a few more seconds, until a peal of low, cheek-aching laughter sounds from behind Seungcheol, burst forth like a wrecking ball that goes straight to Seungcheol’s gut.

“I’m sorry, oh, my God, that was so cheap of me,” Joshua wheezes, and Seungcheol has to fan his face with his hand towel to keep tears of mirth from rolling down his cheeks.

“There’s no way they’re cutting that out, you know,” Seungcheol ekes out, trying his best to get it the fuck together.

“Hello, the Internet, welcome to my twisted mind,” Joshua says, voice suddenly overly serious. Seungcheol imagines he’s waving straight into his camera. He’s overtaken with the desire to _ see. _He’s never this thrown by his guests.

So he shakes his head a little, a futile attempt to toss off the grin plastered on his face, and says, “Okay, okay, set that aside and get out the food processor, we’re going to do a quick marinade.”

The telltale clatter of the cord and the blade and the cute little matching food processors let Seungcheol know it must be going well behind him.

“Don’t you usually marinate overnight?” Joshua asks, curious. Finally, an innocent question.

Seungcheol nods, before realizing Joshua can’t see him. “Yes, you would! And if you were making this at home I would really recommend letting it marinate for at least two hours, if not overnight. It lets the flavors really permeate the muscle and fiber in the meat and gets it all super tender without all the malletwork, if you get a thin enough cut of beef, like kurisal or buchaesal or something.”

There’s a noise of assent, a little murmur under his breath that Seungcheol’s mind decides sounds like, “You’d know all about muscle, too,” before a clear and bright, “What’s in the marinade?” rings out over his shoulder and he has to focus. Clock’s ticking, after all.

“Right. We have to peel and dice our bae pear, first, it should be next to where the food processor was.”

“Pear, pear… oh, got it.”

It’s weird. Not being able to see is absolutely killing Seungcheol today, and normally he prides himself on his patience. The B handheld comes down to get an alternate-angle shot of his hands picking up the pear and peeling it, but he hardly notices it, has half a mind to swat it away like a bug.

As he stares down at his cutting board and paring knife slicing through his pear, though, Seungcheol realizes that what he really wants to see isn’t just Joshua’s pretty, big hands, delicate on the pear, deft with the knife, though that’s certainly part of it. But more than that, what he wants to see is that spark in his eye, the glint and the wink, the one that said he likes a challenge.

Well, if Joshua likes a challenge, Seungcheol can certainly provide.

“How big are we going with the dice?” Joshua is asking.

Perfect. Casual, Seungcheol replies, voice light, “Oh, size doesn’t matter, they get treated the same.”

He’s rewarded with a little snort, cute and knowing. “I bet you say that to all your guests.”

“Nope, just the cute musicians.” Seungcheol doesn’t give him time to reply, taking it at a sprint. The recipe comes together quickly after this, and they are on a schedule, after all. “Okay, if you’re done dicing, now we’re just gonna go wild with the tiny bowls. I name it, you toss it in, all right?”

“Yes, chef,” Joshua says, but instead of curt it comes across silky and demure, and Seungcheol can almost imagine him smirking. Another point to Joshua.

“Okay. Pear. Onion, garlic, and ginger. Brown sugar. Sesame oil. And then a generous pinch of the black pepper. We’re gonna blend it all up until it’s a liquid, so you can just let it go for a minute or two.”

The whirr of the food processors fills a beat, and Joshua is right on time with the next one when he opens his mouth. Musicians, you know? “This is your recipe, right, Seungcheol? What inspired it?”

The question takes him aback. Seungcheol doesn’t know what Jihyo said when she briefed Joshua, knows vaguely that the guests get told what they’ll be making in advance, that they’re asked for dietary restrictions and preferences weeks ahead of time when the shoot is first scheduled, but that detail is a little trivial, a little personal, even. Jihyo wouldn’t have mentioned it, Seungcheol is almost certain. Something warm flickers in his chest about it.

“Yeah, it is, actually. When I travel, my main goal when I eat is finding something new, something fresh, something I can’t find anywhere else. And my first trip to L.A., I was really new to my job and honestly? I was having a really shitty time in America. Everything that could go wrong had gone wrong all day, and all I wanted to do was fly home and curl up in bed and just go to sleep. You know what I mean?”

Joshua makes a soft, empathetic noise, a little _ mm, _ a kind sound that says, _ go on. _

So Seungcheol does. “I wanted to come back to Korea so bad, but I had professional obligations while I was there, so I did the next best thing, and I looked up where to get Korean food in this country I was trying really really hard not to hate. And it turned out that two blocks away from my hotel was this food truck that served bulgogi tacos. I was so mad, you wouldn’t believe. I thought it was going to be bullshit, and went down there all grumpy, ready to be an asshole about it. But it wasn’t! It was really good!” 

He laughs a little, remembering how awful his trip felt like it was going to be that day, feeling so anxious about traveling abroad for a job he’d had for all of six months, afraid of fucking it up. Being so homesick he wanted to cry, and judging so harshly the very idea of some stranger ruining something he loved, something that was supposed to be comforting. Remembering how that first bite tasted, savory and fresh and soothing and adventurous and like home and this new place all at once. 

The idea for his own version of the recipe never left Seungcheol. He carried it with him every day since he came back from that trip.

“Yeah, I completely get it, like, it seems like it would be bastardizing this delicious traditional dish we love, the one our mom makes, the one halmeoni makes, right?” Joshua says, and Seungcheol’s breath catches. “But it’s not. It’s this surprising, beautiful thing, this, like, microcosm of globalization. That speaks to me a lot, because I feel like I’m always balancing on the line right between Korean and American, one foot in front of the other on this thing separating me from me. But, like. Bulgogi tacos, you know? Something delicious, something that says that being two things is perfect exactly the way it is, and doesn’t ruin either half. It adds to it.”

“Greater than the sum of its parts,” Seungcheol breathes. He wants to see Joshua’s face so bad. His chest aches with it.

“Exactly. Exactly. Oh, shit, my marinade looks done, I think,” Joshua says, sudden, like a spell broken.

Seungcheol feels enchanted still.

But he’s a professional. So he says, “Perfect. We’re going to heat the cast-iron pan with a couple tablespoons of oil, and while that’s going, our beef is going in the big zip-lock bag with all the marinade. We’re gonna seal it up and squish it around so it’s all distributed evenly. That’s especially important since we don’t have a lot of time for it to set up.”

“Gotcha.”

This part always seems silly, the sloshing and the shaking of the bag, all liquid like a water bed. Something kids would love to do. Whenever Seungcheol is too lazy to make a marinade in a glass container and does it like this, bagged, he imagines a future, a little girl at his feet reaching up and giggling when she gets to squish the bag of dinner around and help him out. If he’s honest with himself, he imagines little hands in the kitchen with him a lot. 

Quietly from behind Seungcheol, Joshua laughs, warm. Seungcheol smiles at the sound of it and pretends it doesn’t add to the vision. “What are you laughing at?” he asks.

“I would have loved to do this as a kid,” Joshua says, and Seungcheol’s stomach tenses. “This is really fun. Ten out of ten. My favorite part of the recipe, by far. If I look in the magazine and none of the steps say ‘squish around a bag of beefy sauce,’ I’m going to call you on the phone and demand a reprint. Or a retraction. Correction. Whatever you do.”

It makes Seungcheol laugh. “That’s a funny way of asking for my number, Joshua.”

“I, I—Well, it’s for a very good reason! The people deserve to do this the way it was meant to be done!” Joshua says, a little stammered and stilted, and Seungcheol grins down at his station, hovering a hand over the cast-iron pan.

Seungcheol asks sweetly, “Is your pan hot enough?”

“I think so,” Joshua replies unevenly, voice not entirely confident.

“If you hold your hand maybe ten centimeters above your pan you should feel the heat radiating, and your oil should be shimmery.”

A few seconds pass, and Seungcheol waits. “I think it’s good, Cheol.”

The nickname goes straight through Seungcheol’s chest, seizing him like a hand on his heart. It falls out of Joshua’s mouth like a breath, easy, and sounds like he’s known him forever, comfortable and close. It’s fine. It’s extremely fine.

“Good, uh, good. Now we’ll open the bag and use tongs to get the beef going. Just lay it out flat and leave it alone to caramelize, get a nice crust, and while the first side’s going we’ll prep the toppings, figure out what we want. We have shredded cabbage, kimchi, cilantro, diced onion, and queso fresco, but I could run and get some tomatoes or something if you want to.”

The handheld camera operator’s eyes widen a little at that. Seungcheol reads them, where they’re saying, ‘I have a delicate dance to do with all these wires and if you make me chase you through the kitchen while you fetch fucking roma tomatoes for this man, I will kill you, no matter how hot he is.’

_ Sizzle. _

“You don’t have to do that for me,” Joshua says, and it sounds soft, almost shy, under the hiss of marinated bulgogi hitting two cast-iron pans. What kind of man is this? Every time Seungcheol thinks he knows who he’s dealing with he’s met with a new surprise.

He wants to know everything. “No tomatoes on your riders, then?” Seungcheol asks, playful. Only half-hoping Joshua will laugh.

No laugh, but his response is tinted with a smile. “You’ll just have to come to a show to find out what I like in a rider,” Joshua says slowly, sounding it out like he’s not sure that’s what he wanted to say. Seungcheol looks at the A camera operator like they’ll give him a hint, but he’s met with the blinking red light and his warped reflection in the lens.

Fuck it. Grins Seungcheol, “Is that a backstage pass, Joshua Hong? Oh, you should be good to flip the beef. If it sticks give it another few seconds and it should release on its own.”

“If this turns out as well as I hope it does, you can come backstage whenever you want,” Joshua says, followed by another _ sizzle. _“This smells so good, Cheol.”

“Good, it should! And I’ll take you up on that. You’re on tour, right?”

Seungcheol assumes Joshua is nodding. “Yeah, my first world tour started in L.A. a couple of weeks ago, and I’m trying to visit as many countries on my bucket list as possible, see as many fans as possible. It’s seriously been a dream come true, to make my music, and everything that’s come of that, all the beautiful people I’ve gotten to meet… I wouldn’t change it for anything. I’m so grateful.”

It could sound rehearsed or corny, the way he _ appreciates _ his fans, is _ grateful _ and _ blessed _for these opportunities. God knows Seungcheol has cooked through enough simpering influencers and pretentious stars to know when their motivations are less substantial and more financial. But the way Joshua’s voice changes, like he’s personally thanking everyone who’s gotten him this far, caring and warm, radiates from behind Seungcheol’s back. He met this man less than an hour ago and he’s already making plans to go out and buy all his albums, put his photocard in his phone case, take a selca and put it on Instagram and hope Joshua likes it.

“That’s amazing. I can’t think of anyone more deserving,” Seungcheol says against his better judgement. He assumes they’ll edit it out due to his wording; they won’t want people to think he’s putting down other artists. He only half-cares. He cares the minimum amount.

Joshua says, “Thank you,” and it sounds close, suddenly, like his face is turned. Without thinking, Seungcheol takes a step back, and bumps into Joshua’s back. _ Oh, _he thinks, bloodstream suddenly electrified. Joshua is giggling, and it makes Seungcheol laugh, too.

“Sorry, sorry! Oh! Take the meat off the pan! Set it onto the wood cutting board and let it rest!” Joshua is still laughing, soft, and Seungcheol grins. “Take your cast-iron off the heat! Stop laughing at me! I’m a professional!”

“Yes, chef,” Joshua says again, playful.

Seungcheol shakes his head and rolls his eyes through his smile. “You’re the worst-behaved guest I’ve ever had on this show.” It comes out achingly fond, and he hopes Joshua can’t tell.

“You promise?” 

_ “Yes. _We need to heat the tortillas. Now, from context clues I feel like I shouldn’t trust you to do it directly on the grill—”

“Hey!”

“—so we’ll just do it on the tiny pan, the dry one. We’re gonna make… mm… three good size tacos. So three nice warm tortillas all arranged on your platter, the square one.”

Joshua makes another affirmative sound, and Seungcheol works on his plate. He lets his fingertips brush the pan when he flips them over, and lays them out on his platter, one two three. Plating was never his strongest suit, that’s something he’s picking up from Seokmin and his other coworkers, but something like this doesn’t need a lot of finesse. What’s most important is that it tastes good.

There’s a sharp intake of breath behind Seungcheol, a little hiss, and his stomach drops. “Joshua?” he asks, quickly. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Joshua laughs, but it’s a little wincing. “Good call on the grill. The pan alone is kind of hot.”

So are you, Seungcheol thinks. But. Not the time. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.” A beat, where Seungcheol opens his mouth to double check, takes a step like he’s gonna turn around, but Joshua fills the silence with reassurance. “I promise, Cheol. You can check on me once we’re done. Time to plate?”

Seungcheol looks to Gyuri, their production assistant, who nods imperceptibly. He’s fine. They would have stopped rolling if he wasn’t. But the thought sticks like flypaper in his first city apartment, and Seungcheol thinks that perhaps he will check on Joshua when they’re done, take his hand in his and turn it over, run his own heat-calloused fingertips over Joshua’s soft skin and make sure he’s good to play guitar, left unscathed from their encounter.

“Yeah, Shua, let’s plate.”

Joshua makes an unidentifiable noise behind Seungcheol, says softly, “It’s been a long time since someone called me that. I like it.”

Seungcheol is sure he’s blushing now, hopes the heat from the preparation can mask it. The warm light of the sun moving into the afternoon is usually pretty forgiving, too, so he hopes all these people aren’t watching him fall for this sunkissed musician prince sight all but unseen. That he comes across flirty, but competent and professional. Seungcheol is a professional.

“I’m going to do lots of bulgogi, because nothing is worse than a taco that’s ninety percent lettuce or cheese and ten percent meat, right? We’re gonna leave them open-faced, street style, and top them however you want. Make ’em pretty.”

“Pretty, I can do,” Joshua says confidently, and Seungcheol grins. That he knows for sure.

Seungcheol loads up with bulgogi, kimchi, cabbage, scatters the queso fresco and drizzles crema over the top. It looks just like it did when he staged it for the editorial, but different somehow. Prettier. He hopes, anyway.

“How’s it looking?”

Joshua says, confident, “Beautiful.”

And then that’s it. They’re done. The cameras turn off while the PAs set up the tasting table, and Joshua and Seungcheol turn to each other, finally, finally, _ finally, _and all Seungcheol can do is smile at him. They’re roughly the same height, but Joshua’s shoulders are slender where Seungcheol’s are broad from working out, and they’re smiling at each other, and Seungcheol feels good.

“I have to check your hand,” Seungcheol remembers suddenly, and Joshua holds it out. “Does it hurt?”

“Maybe a little.” Joshua’s fingertips are bright pink on one hand, his thumb and forefinger especially.

Seungcheol is riddled with guilt. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have to be. I could have used the chopsticks to flip them, but I flew too close to the sun,” Joshua laughs, eyes following where Seungcheol gently guides his hand under the cool running water of his workstation sink. Seungcheol thinks absently that being near Joshua like this, heat-rough fingers brushing guitar-hardened ones, feels an awful lot like flying close to the sun.

“Are you going to be okay to play guitar? You have a concert coming up, right?”

Joshua nudges Seungcheol’s shoulder with his own, withdrawing his hand from under the water and wiping it off on the towel still draped over Seungcheol’s shoulder. “I’ll be fine.” He waits a second, glancing to either side, and leans in close to Seungcheol’s ear. “If you kiss it better, maybe.”

Heat runs up Seungcheol’s face and he can’t escape it now, Joshua this close to his face and one hand drawing away from his shoulder so slowly. Joshua’s smirk doesn’t go up to his eyes, which are still kind, gentle, looking into Seungcheol rather than just at him. Seungcheol smiles despite himself, and Joshua’s whole face softens.

“You guys ready?”

They turn at the same time, nodding in unison, and head over to the tasting table.

“I’m actually really excited to eat this,” Joshua says, laughing a little. “I’m starving.”

“Me too!” Seungcheol says. “I ate breakfast before I went to the gym but that was hours ago now.”

Joshua rolls his eyes goodnaturedly. “We get it, you work out.” When they sit down, Seungcheol flexes his arm muscles jokingly, and feels his work shirt tighten over his bicep. He pulls a face, and when he opens his eyes Joshua has an unreadable look on his face. 

The A camera resets and the light starts to blink. Seungcheol is handed his plate and Joshua his own, and they turn away from one another again. Three, two, one, reveal.

“Oh, that looks amazing!” Joshua says, and Seungcheol feels a little thrill roll through him. He believes Joshua, still knows he’d be kind regardless, but feels that same spike of adrenaline he feels whenever he sends up a tester recipe to the editor-in-chief. The critical, _ I wanna impress you _neuron firing in the back of Seungcheol’s brain.

Joshua’s plate looks good, too. Really good.

Face open and innocent, Joshua says in a low voice, “Let’s do it at the same time, Seungcheol.”

The PA next to the camera gives a big thumbs up at Joshua’s request, and it occurs to Seungcheol that he hasn’t asked for or wanted or needed their direction all day. Joshua Hong’s power, he supposes.

Their arms wind around each other’s at the elbow, and Seungcheol tries to stay aware of the camera as Joshua closes his eyes and parts his lips, tries to stay aware of the camera as Joshua closes his mouth around the taco and hums satisfactorily, tries to stay aware of the camera as Joshua’s soft lips brush Seungcheol’s fingertips, tries to stay aware of the camera as he gets his own bite of what Joshua prepared and does his best not to spill it down his shirt. He’s glad he hasn’t taken off his apron. Neither has Joshua, he registers, and it pleases Seungcheol more than it probably should.

“This is so good, Cheol,” Joshua says, covering his mouth with his free hand. His lips are all pink and pretty and pursed and Seungcheol does not stare.

“You did a really great job!” Seungcheol manages, glancing down at the plate in front of him and picking up another bite.

It’s true; Joshua’s plating is beautiful, and while Seungcheol can tell some components are a little overdone, chopped too small, or underseasoned, it’s really, truly good. That's honestly the most unexpected part of all, frankly. It should affect Seungcheol less than it does.

Joshua rests a hand on Seungcheol’s arm, squeezing his bicep gently. Friendly. Just friendly enough. “I just had a good chef to teach me,” he says, and when Seungcheol looks up at him, his eyes are sparkling with mischief. Seungcheol smiles back, cheeks tight with it, and Joshua’s hand grips imperceptibly tighter.

•

“Do—do you have a dog?” Joshua gasps, not an hour later, and it makes Seungcheol’s hips stutter where he’s grinding up against Joshua, both fully clothed like they’re goddamn teenagers.

“What? Yes? What?”

“God, that’s so—hot—You just—you seem like a dog guy—_ oh,” _pants Joshua, gripping at Seungcheol’s shoulders where he’s pushed up against the inside of the walk-in pantry door. Seungcheol’s leg is slotted between Joshua’s and it’s so pretty, watching his jawline tighten as he throws his head back and grinds his hips down against Seungcheol’s upper thigh in his sturdy kitchen jeans. The little noises Joshua lets out are so good, and Seungcheol presses his lips to Joshua’s, trying to swallow them all down.

“Her name is Ttalgi,” Seungcheol chokes out after Joshua pulls away to breathe heavily. “Do we have to talk about this right now?”

“No, I guess not—God, fuck,” Joshua says raggedly, eyelashes fluttering at the slow, deliberate slide of the hard line in his light-wash jeans against Seungcheol’s rapidly growing erection. Seungcheol feels strung out about it, even through two layers of denim.

Joshua’s hands are everywhere, everywhere and nowhere, and Seungcheol feels bright, sharp, acidic-in-a-good-way, all citrus notes. He lets Joshua wind a hand into his hair. He gets his hands around Joshua’s waist, finally, and Joshua hums happily. 

Joshua tugs experimentally at Seungcheol’s hair, and the moan he lets out at the sharp feeling is embarrassingly loud, reverberating through the pantry. Joshua laughs, and it’s so pretty, warm and giggly and sincere.

Seungcheol’s chest tightens. “How—_ fuck— _How, how long are you in Seoul?” he asks, and hopes faintly that the ragged way he’s breathing into the side of Joshua’s neck disguises how hopeful the question is, how much he hopes he has time to spend with this man.

“My concert’s not ‘til Saturday,” Joshua says, reaching down to palm at Seungcheol through his jeans, sighing sweetly at the way Seungcheol lets his head fall back against the pantry door. Seungcheol feels a flush burn up his cheeks when Joshua smirks, leaning in to kiss him slow and dirty and murmur, “Cute.”

Seungcheol tries to move his leg a little, give Joshua space to touch, and hears, in the one neuron still firing in his brain, an _ ungodly _ loud metal clatter, followed by a sound he has unfortunately come to know intimately: the dull, thudding roar of a thousand potatoes falling to the cement floor of the pantry.

“Shit,” he mutters, and Joshua laughs again, into Seungcheol’s neck. He trails a few kisses down, too, sucking a mark just below his collarbone for good measure, as if Seungcheol’s legs weren’t weak enough for him.

Untangling himself from Seungcheol after a few beats, Joshua takes a step back, pulling at his t-shirt and smiling down at his feet. Seungcheol leans his head back against the metal door and catches his breath. He is still achingly hard in his jeans, but as he regains a faculty or two he thinks it’s for the best. He’s a professional chef. It’s definitely unsanitary to fuck in the dry storage pantry at his workplace, a world-renowned culinary magazine. Or whatever.

But he looks over at Joshua, all rose-gold in the dim light of the pantry, pink mouth all kiss-swollen, and thinks no one would really be able to blame him if he had gone through with it.

“Would you want to meet her?” he says, reaching down for the giant potato bowl and setting it back on the low shelf he had kicked it off.

Joshua looks down at him, face and neck still a little debauched and glowing pink, but eyes sharp, like they’ve been all day. “Who?”

Seungcheol smiles softly down at the potatoes as he tries to gather some up. “Ttalgi.”

That laugh again, boyish and sweet. “I’ve spent more than enough time on dating and hookup apps to know when ‘Do you want to meet my dog?’ is a line, Choi Seungcheol.”

Flushing, Seungcheol starts, “No, I—” but it’s swallowed in a tender kiss, Joshua’s soft yet calloused hand on his cheekbone.

“I would love to.”

Seungcheol laughs with relief, and his chest thrills with the way Joshua bites his lip in response, even as they’re gathering stray potatoes from around the pantry. 

When Joshua comes closer, he’s holding his potato collection in the front of his shirt like a basket. A very expensive woven basket. Seungcheol eyes it. He got his fancy t-shirt dirty with floor potatoes like it was nothing. Would anyone really hate Seungcheol if he were to blow him right here and now? 

Yes. 

But maybe—

“You gotta promise me something, though,” Joshua says offhandedly, like it just occurred to him. He carefully offloads his potatoes into the big bowl, then holds a hand out to help Seungcheol stand up properly.

_ Anything, _Seungcheol doesn’t say. “Sure,” Seungcheol says.

“You’ll cook me breakfast in the morning,” Joshua says, leaning forward to purr it against the shell of Seungcheol’s ear.

“God,” Seungcheol says despite himself, and Joshua laughs again, that beautiful laugh. This is so—

He’ll cook Joshua whatever he wants. Avocado toast. Belgian waffle egg sandwich. Gyeran jjim. Steak tartare. Brown sugar porridge. Dakjuk. Strawberry crepes. Seungcheol tries not to imagine the way Joshua’s light brown hair will look, wavy against his pillowcase, glowing in the light streaming through his kitchen window, threaded through his fingers when they kiss. He tries not to want it so much, so soon.

“Is it presumptuous to ask you to come to my show? I think I really want you there,” Joshua says quietly, letting Seungcheol open the pantry door.

Seungcheol looks back at him, over his shoulder, and sees the hopeful way Joshua looks back at him when the light shines through the crack of the pantry door.

“Not if it’s not presumptuous to say I want to be there.”

Joshua’s face lights up. And Choi Seungcheol never went to culinary school, but he knows how to tell when something is coming together.

**Author's Note:**

> idol cameos: jihyo from twice, gyuri from fromis_9
> 
> thank you for reading!
> 
> find me on [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/eightpaint/) and [curiouscat](http://www.curiouscat.me/pixiepower/)!


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